Finifugal
by oh-the-linsanity
Summary: At the close of their senior year, Marco seemingly goes missing without a trace. But as Jean and his friends get ready for prom, graduation, and inevitably going their separate ways, Jean refuses to give up on him. He makes it a goal to find him. "Marco? It's me, again. I don't know if you're listening but...call me." highschool!AU
1. Chapter 1

_Finifugal_

_._

_~/~_

_1 unheard voicemail_

_"Hey, Marco! Dude, you gotta start picking up your phone, man. Anyway, I caught I ride with Jaeger (dude get out of my fucking face I'm on the phone!) and we're all going to try and find a diner. I know you said you had to do something before you went home, (if you elbow me one more time—oh, no, not you Mikasa! Sorry!) but if you get done soon, come join us. Later man!_

_~/~_

_._

"Heh, why can you never get that damn thing unlocked?"

Jean sighed as he felt Sasha's breath tickle his neck from the exhales of her laughter. She poked and prodded his sides, nudging his hip with hers, and bumped him out of the way. "It's not my fault," he complained as he moved. "This locker is super shitty."

"Hmm," was Sasha's quiet reply. She knocked against the locker once, twice, then three times, kicked the bottom with her heel and then gave the button underneath the lock a good tug. The locker snapped open, smacking Jean in the face. "Whoops!" she laughed. "Sorry. Guess all it needs is the Sasha Braus touch after all!"

He grumbled something unintelligible as he gently pushed her out of the way. He couldn't complain—Sasha managed to unjam his locker every time, even when he couldn't get a spare key from the janitor. Peeking over Jean's shoulder, Sasha took a good look inside his locker and discovered why it was so prone to jamming. "You should clean that out," she chided lightly. Ducking under his arm, she reached and grabbed a novel. "Why are you reading Crime and Punishment? You specifically chose not to sign up for that literature class to dodge that bullet, if I recall."

Beneath his various books, notepads, and soccer equipment, Jean did notice that he had a lot of extra books in there that weren't his. Because his run-down locker was one of the few still-existing ones on the other side of the school, a lot of his friends liked to dump their shit in his locker so they could grab it before they had classes over there. Unlike all the other lockers in school which were only half, this one was a full one, so it held a lot of stuff—Armin dumped all his computer and robotic equipment there since the technology hall was real close, Mikasa put her swim & dive bag, soccer balls, and other sports gear in there since the gym was next door, Sasha just liked to dump her shit there for whatever reason, and even Jaeger put his trumpet in there when he didn't want to lug it around.

But the novels always belonged to someone else.

"That's Marco's," Jean whispered.

Sasha got quiet, calm even. Strands of her hair tickled Jean's chin as she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon." Careful and with caution, Sasha grabbed the book from Jean's hands. "It's a library book, I'll return it okay?"

Jean looked panic-stricken. "He might still need it."

She frowned. "The test was two weeks ago," Sasha said quietly, but Jean let her take the book anyway. "You don't want him to pay a hefty fine when he comes back, right?" Jean shook his head before he started digging through his overstuffed locker.

"You should take these, too," he said, grabbing the other novels Marco had left in there.

Sasha took a quick look at the spines and handed Jean back novel not on the reading list. "This one's his copy, s'not from the library." Jean watched as Sasha stuffed the books in her backpack (which was overstuffed, much like his locker, with a sweater.) The warning bell rang, and Sasha slung her bag over one shoulder. "I gotta go, Dr. Levi's going to skin me alive if I'm late again."

"His room's at least a three minute walk!" Jean called, a smile tugging at his lips when he heard Sasha yell "Shit!" and run full speed up the stairs and to the left down the hall.

~/~

.

Jean decided to skip class in favor of a cigarette out on the soccer field. But after walking by it and discovering there was a gym class playing an intermural game there, Jean wandered over to the off put tennis courts a little more ways away.

The tennis courts were abandoned, save for Annie, who more than likely decided to ditch one of her classes to get an extra practice in. The tennis team had won 145 games straight, and with the regionals coming up, she was never able to do anything with him and his friends due to her incessant practices.

"Yo!" he shouted and Annie gave a grunt as she gave one last swung, the ball soaring over the net and falling with a thud on the other side. Jean always thought practicing tennis alone looked rather silly.

Out of breath, Annie lifted one hand to shield her eyes and noticed Jean, waving about a pack of cigarettes over his head. With a shrug, Annie dropped her racquet and meandered over there, the two settling underneath the lone picnic table under a great oak tree next to the courts.

"Alright, what's biting you," Annie mumbled, cigarette between her teeth as Jean lit the end of it for her.

"Nothing," Jean said, a little too sour, he realized, as he lit his own cigarette. "English sounded boring, that's all."

"Ah," Annie blew out a perfect ring. "If you say so."

Jean admitted that he liked smoking with Annie—it was, truly, the only thing they ever did together. They never saw each other outside of class, hell, they never saw each other IN class, save for the one time they got projected up in history together. He'd stumbled upon her when he ditched class, practicing her tennis, like normal. Sometimes she'd just be lying in the back of her pick-up truck, car parked in the furthest corner of the lot where the school policeman wouldn't really pick up that she was there. They didn't talk much—instead they smoked, drove to the QT, took a walk through the woods behind the school. And one or two periods later, they'd walk back into class, seldom words spoken.

Usually, that is.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jean suddenly burst out, and Annie replied with a calm nod. "Do you ever feel like you could just get in your truck and drive away, and never tell anyone?"

Annie eyed him curiously. "Are you asking if I'd just up and leave?"

"Yeah. Would you? I mean…._could _you? Is it even possible?"

"Hmm," she hummed, playing with the cigarette in her teeth. "Maybe, if I could. But I don't think it's possible."

Jean took a long drag. "How come?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to cover up all your tracks." A pause. "This is about Marco."

Jean didn't say anything.

"Someone knows where he is," Annie said after a while, flicking her cigarette on the ground and hopping off the table to stomp it out.

"So you don't think he's dead," and Jean smiled as the words fell out of his mouth.

"I don't know about that," she said, and Jean felt his smile wash away and his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. "I just said someone knows where he is."

Annie went back to playing tennis after that, and Jean watched as she served the balls to empty air before he fell asleep on top of the picnic table.

~/~

.

Jean woke up to the annoying sound of a trumpet blasting in his face. That, and Eren's laughter. After almost falling off the table in the shock of it all, Jean growled, "Asshole!" As he realized where he was, he looked behind Eren and his shit-eating grin to see Mikasa and Armin in the back, talking.

"Hey, just checking if you were still alive," was Eren's excuse. "Your car was still in the lot. How long have you been out here?"

Groaning, Jean rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, what time is it?" Judging by the fact that the sun was pretty much in his face indicated that it was late. Probably too late.

"School's over, man."

"Shit," he cursed, getting up from the table. He stretched left and right, reveling in the popping of his back. "Then pretty much the whole fucking day." He cursed again, louder. "Fuck, I missed chemistry."

Eren shrugged. "Eh, it's not a big deal. We didn't learn anything new, just some more practice with balancing equations."

"Super," he said, completely lacking enthusiasm.

"You know," he tapped Jean in the chest with the bell of his horn, "It took me forever to find you."

"No one asked you to…?"

He shrugged. "Well, regardless, you should be thanking me. What if you fell asleep all night? What if you got stung by a bee? What if—"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Jean sighed. He had a pretty good idea of what was coming next. "What do you want?"

Eren grinned. "Can you drive my sister home? I have band practice and Armin's staying here to prep for the robotics tournament."

Jean frowned. "Doesn't Mikasa have _some_ kind of sports practice? Running? Diving? Javelin throwing?"

"Eren!" Mikasa barked from behind. "I told you, I can just walk."

Jean did some quick calculations. "Don't you live almost five miles away? I can drive you, it's no problem."

"Jean, I—"

He jogged over and in a swift move, grabbed her backpack that she had set on the ground. It was heavy and probably full of icky books for physics, but he slung over his shoulder without complaint. "It would be my pleasure!" he assured, laughing as he started running to the parking lot for his car.

Mikasa sighed and began following Jean at a slower pace, but not before throwing Eren a dirty look. Armin was looking rather smug too, so she threw up a middle finger, for precautionary measures.

Jean's car wasn't anything special, just a near-death four door sedan from the 90's with half a bumper missing. But while ugly as hell, the inside was always clean, so there was plenty of room for Mikasa's oversized book bag in the back. In an attempt to be chivalrous, he opened the passenger's door for her. "Milady."

She rolled her eyes, but he swore he saw a little smile on her face as she got in, so all in all worth it.

The drive to her house was short and quiet, much like he expected. Mikasa was quiet, a lot like their friend Christa, and even Marco. But unlike the other two, Mikasa's quiet was taken as unapproachable, her demeanor abrasive, by most other students. Jean didn't think she was like that at all: he admired her intelligence, strength, and diligence. Mikasa was the hardest working, most confident, and prettiest girl he'd ever seen. He liked that she was so calm and rational, but she wasn't afraid to show her emotions when the time came. Jean liked nearly every damn thing about her.

Too bad he was too chicken-shit to tell her.

As her neighborhood came up on the left, Jean made a quick decision to keep driving past. "Since I ended up sleeping outside all day, I skipped lunch. You don't mind if I stop at McDonalds, do you?"

She shook her head. "That's fine."

Ten minutes later he was in the parking lot of the McDonalds, a carton of fries in one hand and a milkshake in the other as he leaned up against the hood of his car, Mikasa beside him. He shook the cup in front of Mikasa's face. "Want some?"

"No, I'm good."

"Aww, come on," he urged, taking the lid off the shake. He grabbed a fry and dipped it in. "It's vanilla, your favorite."

Mikasa opened her mouth to protest, and Jean used that opportunity to shove the French fry in her face. The annoyed look on her face, paired with the sliver of vanilla ice cream dribbling down her chin made him laugh pretty hard. "Rude," Mikasa chided, but she was smiling, again. Once again, Jean waved the fries at her again and wordlessly, she grabbed a fry and dipped it in the milkshake. "So why were you sleeping outside today anyway?" she asked, licking the salt residue off her fingers.

"I was…." He struggled for the right word. "Distracted," he decided on. "I needed some time to think."

Mikasa narrowed her eyes. "You weren't smoking, were you?"

"Umm."

She threw a french fry in his face. "Bad habit, stupidhead."

"I know, I know. It just calms me down, okay?"

Reaching over for another French fry, she asked, "You're not still hung up about Marco, are you?"

He frowned. "So what if I'm worried? I just want to know where he is."

That was the thing that bothered Jean the most. One day, He and Marco and the rest of their group of friends went to a concert and then the next day Marco was gone. Word spread around quickly that Marco never came home that Friday night after the show. Jean had caught a ride with Eren and Armin, and he assumed that Marco must have caught one back with Connie, maybe Bert, but that wasn't the case. No one knew what happened to him. No one saw a damn thing.

"Do you still call him?" Mikasa asked. She was referring to the fact that Jean called him every day and left a voicemail. Which was probably close to two dozen phone calls.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Mikasa was good at getting him to talk. Armin was too, but Mikasa was blunt, more direct. "What do you mean why? I want him to know I still care about him." He told her.

"He might not have his phone anymore," she said, and Jean could sense the underlying implications. Implications that Jean would never accept, not without evidence.

"No, he might not," Jean admitted, "But he might. And if he's ignoring us for any reason, I just want him to know that I'm not ignoring him. I'll never ignore him."

Mikasa reached for the last of the fries. "Marco's lucky to have had a best friend like you." she said softly.

Jean tried to ignore how she said "had."

~/~

.

After a night of sleeplessness and catch up work, Jean found himself nodding off during his chemistry lab, which resulted in Jaeger elbowing him in the ribs about 12 times.

"If you fall asleep one more time, I'm dumping hydrochloric acid on your face."

Mumbling some insincere apologies Jean looked around at his lab station where his group members were doing most of the work. Well, Armin was doing all the work. Connie was playing with equipment he shouldn't and it looked like Eren was working on some assignment due next period.

"Armin, what do you need me to do?"

Armin shrugged. "Nah, I got it this time. It's a really easy lab," he said, writing down some equations on the sheet that certainly didn't look easy. "If you want, you can type up the notes tonight?"

"No problem," he said quickly. He always felt a little guilty that Armin did most of the work in chemistry. Part of it was his own fault—he got so ahead of the others that it just became easier to do it himself than have others help out. But most of the time, Armin was pretty good about demonstrating everything and teaching; Jean, Eren and Connie had the highest marks in the class, besides Armin of course.

"Okay, now I just have to add this solution and…look!" all three boys turned their attentions to the beaker and watched as the blue solution changed color, fizzing and hissing in the process.

Hanji, their teacher, came bounding over immediately. "Ah! You guys figured it out! First too, as usual. " She leafed through the stack of papers in her hands (last week's tests) and handed the four of them their respected grades. Eren, an 85, Connie an 82, and Armin, a 98.

"Jean!" Hanji bellowed, waving his paper in front of her. "You're so close to that A! Just reach a little further, I know you can get there—but still, good job! This is usually the hardest test of the year." she smiled, handing Jean his test, an 89.

After spending a few minutes looking over their tests, the four of them looked around the room, wondering what to do. Jean looked at the clock and realized they still had 45 minutes of class left. Armin had figured out that chemistry lab in 15 minutes. The nerd.

"Why don't you guys get out of here, hmm?" Hanji suggested. "Go outside, pick flowers, watch plants as they photosynthesize—whatever it is you crazy kids do these days."

Deciding not to argue, the four of them left, Armin with promises to see Hanji later at the robotics meeting. Jean immediately offered to drive all of them to the gas station for 79 cent sodas, which they all readily agreed.

"Okay, I need you guys' help," Connie announced as he filled up his cup with Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew. "It's about Sasha."

The three boys groaned.

Cheeks blushed red, Connie sputtered to defend himself, "Hey now, hear me out! I need help asking her to prom!"

Immediately, their attitudes changed. Prom-asking was a very big deal, just as important as the prom itself. The last few years had almost been competitive in nature in seeing who could be the most creative in their asking. "Well, if it's for _prom," _Eren emphasized. "I guess I can help you out."

"Mhmm, me too," Armin chirped, filling his cup up with Sprite.

"What do you need?" Jean asked.

"…An idea?"

They all groaned, again.

"Dude!" Eren chided, "We need to come up with ideas too!"

Connie sneered. "Pfft, you don't need any ideas. You're probably taking your _sister _to prom." Eren pouted after that, and Armin started laughing pretty hard at the sight.

"I'm not taking Mikasa to prom." He said, and abruptly, Armin stopped laughing. He pointed to himself.

"Am I taking Mikasa to prom…?" Armin asked, confused.

"Dunno," Eren shrugged. "Are you going to ask her?"

"Wasn't planning on it, but I could, if she wants." He paused, mulling it over. "You know, she probably doesn't want a date. She probably just wants to go in a group with all her friends."

Eren rolled his eyes. "Sounds about right. But she hasn't been on a date in her entire life! It's always, 'Eren, I don't have time to date, I have swim practice,' or 'Eren, boys are a waste of time, I should be studying,' or 'dating in high school is pointless,' blah, blah, blah…She needs one high-school dating experience. I'm not letting her off the hook by being her prom date."

"Well," Connie said, elongating the word, "It might be tough to get her a date."

Jean looked on, confused. "What are you talking about? Everyone loves Mikasa."

"They _admire_ her. There's a difference." Armin elaborated.

"People think she's…intimidating," Eren scratched the back of his neck. "She's always given off that vibe…" he trailed off.

"Mikasa's not that intimidating," Jean defended, heading to the counter to pay for the drinks—he slapped a five on the counter, feeling generous. "Besides, if no guy is brave enough to ask her out, then maybe he's not worth her time."

Behind him, Connie, Eren and Armin shared mischievous looks. Armin elbowed Eren in the ribs, gesturing to Jean with the waggle of his eyebrows. Eren, catching on, grinned. So, as soon as they stepped out of the gas station, drinks in hand, Eren said, "Jean, ask my sister to the prom."

Jean dropped his drink, dammit. "W-what!?"

"Dude!" Connie exclaimed with a laugh, handing his soda over to Jean as a replacement. "You've had a crush on her for forever! What's the big deal?"

"It's—I don't—it's complicated!"

"It's not really," Armin said, loudly sipping from his drink as he opened the door to the passenger's side, ignoring Connie's shotgun request.

"You just got to make a grand spectacle of it," Eren jabbed a finger Jean's way. "The whole school better be talking about how fucking adorable it was. Mikasa deserves that kind of shit."

"Ooh, Bonus points if you make her _blush." _Armin snickered. "I'd love to see that."

"Yeah, it's gotta be in front of the whole school!" Connie laughed.

Jean got in his car after the others, buckled his seatbelt with a frown. "I hate you guys."

That was Jean's way of saying he was totally doing it. "Aww, yeah!"

"Whoo!"

"You're the man, Jean!"

As Jean backed out of the parking lot and headed back to school, his mind flooding with thoughts of Mikasa in a beautiful gown, he in a tux, and the two of them dancing the night away. He couldn't help it; he smiled.

Later, after school, Jean started planning.

He forgot to call Marco.

~/~

.

_9 unread voicemails_

_"Marco? Come on man, this isn't funny anymore. Please, just call me. Call someone, anyone! Let us know you're alright, bud._

_._

_~/~_

The next day at lunch, Jean walked up to their usual picnic table outside, all the while wearing a proud grin as he bit into his apple.

"Someone looks like he figured out an idea for prom," Eren sung, reaching out to snag Jean's apple. He turned it over to the far side where Jean hadn't bit into it and took a big bite before he handed the fruit back.

"You bet I did," Jean declared, reaching for Armin's soda—he took a sip at pulled a face. Ugh. Diet. "And it involves all three of you, so you better help."

Armin turned the page in his history book, not even looking up. "What do you need us to do?" he said quietly, attention clearly divided.

"So the powder puff game is coming up, right?" Jean began.

"Oh no," Eren groaned, interrupting. "I see where this is going."

"I think you mean _oh yes._" Connie grinned, clearly excited.

Eren looked up at Jean, pleadingly. "Tell me we're not going to be on the cheerleading team."

Jean just grinned wider.

A loud thud resonated as Eren's forehead met with the table. "Noooooo," he whined, rubbing his forehead left and right on the table. Still not bothering to look up from his book, Armin gently tugged Eren by the collar of his shirt. "You're going to get a splinter," he told him, but Eren didn't seem to care. "Eren, it's not a big deal. Like Connie said, we've always done the powder puff cheerleading squad, every year."

"Yeah, and we come in _second _every time!" Eren yelped. "If we're gonna dress up in the girls uniforms and make fools of ourselves, we might as well _win._"

Connie reached over and nabbed some of Eren's potato chips. "Maybe if you let Reiner choreograph our routines this year, we might stand a chance."

"He wanted us to wear _hot pants."_ Eren reminded him, and Armin pulled a face at the thought.

"You act like that's a bad thing," Connie scoffed. "It would have been hilarious!" He turned to Jean. "Are we going to ask Bert and Reiner to be on the team this year?"

He nodded, mind already drifting to their previous team last year. Each year, four powder puff teams perform at the pep rally and the game, each team consisting of members from each respective class, and they are judged on their routines and one class is crowned the winner. Last year, the junior and seniors were real close, but in the end seniority had them beat, or so they figured. Jean was positive that since they were seniors they would have a better chance a winning the competition this year. And Jean would admit, having Reiner on the team was extremely helpful—he wasn't afraid to get crazy in front of a crowd.

"Okay, but how does this relate to prom asking?" Connie asked. He paused. "Or does it?"

"Oh it does. Might even help you with asking Sasha out, too. Okay, listen up…"

~/~

.

After lunch, Jean remembered he had left his government book in his locker and rushed to the out-of-the-way hallway to get it. But just his luck, he found that Eren must have decided to stuff his trumpet in his locker today, which inevitably led to it being jammed shut yet again. Groaning, Jean started kicking the bottom of the locker with half-assed attempts, combined with weak poundings via his fists in hopes that some miracle would happen and it would swing open.

"Locker jammed?"

A little surprised, he turned around to find not Sasha, but Mikasa. "Oh, yeah." He looked around and the practically dead hallway. "What are you doing over here?"

"I have art," she told him as she shoved him aside and started fiddling with the lock.

That explained it. The art room was in an individual building, right outside the hall where his locker was, in the technology hall. "Art? You take art?"

She nodded, pressing the button underneath the lock and tugging. "Yeah, Christa convinced me to take it with her. I needed an elective so…" she glanced his way. "I'm afraid the lockers jammed because of me. I was in a rush this morning and I stuffed my art portfolio in there, sorry."

"That's okay."

Mikasa gave one last tug and the locker swung open and proceeded to hit Jean in the face. "Oops," Mikasa whispered. "Sorry."

"That's okay," he repeated, and he gave a tiny smile as he rubbed his aching forehead. "I've got a pretty thick skull."

She smiled softly as she started fishing out her stuff for class. Jean took notice of her different tools and pencils and noticed a pattern. "Charcoal?"

"Mmhm," she hummed. "We got to choose two mediums for our final projects. So I'm doing charcoal portraits and watercolor landscapes."

"What's Christa doing?" He knew she was a pretty good artist.

"Probably painting the Sistine chapel." Mikasa said, tone flat. Jean laughed as he gently steered her out of the way so he could grab his text book. The bell rang—so much for a quick run to his locker. He expected Mikasa to abandon him and go to class, but she remained.

"What's so funny?" Mikasa asked as Jean tugged out Eren's trumpet, which was in there after all.

"You." he told her, setting the trumpet on the floor. "You know, despite what people say, I think you're very funny. Among other things." He looked up from his locker and grinned.

Mikasa tugged her portfolio underneath her arm and looked to the ground. "Oh. Thanks, I guess."

The blush on her face was thanks enough for Jean. But the moment died quickly when he looked back in his locker and couldn't find his book. "Christ, where is it?" he grumbled, grabbing a balled up sweater from the back. He was about to toss it in the ground when he paused and took a good look at it. "Is this your brother's?" Jean asked, holding it out for Mikasa to see. It certainly wasn't his.

She shrugged. "It could be. Maybe Armin's," she reached out and fingered the soft fabric. "Looks like something Armin would pick up at the thrift store."

Jean groaned and tossed the thing on the ground. "Ugh, it's getting ridiculous how much you guys use my locker," he complained. Thankfully, his book was underneath the sweater. Quickly grabbing it, he shut the locker and hoisted his backpack on one shoulder. "Hey, sorry if you're going to be late but—Mikasa?"

She had wandered over to where Jean had tossed the sweater. "I wasn't going to _leave _the sweater there I would have picked it up."

She was quiet for moment, clearly not paying attention as she scooped the sweater up, along with two pieces of crumpled up paper. She scanned over them both and then stared back at the sweater. "It's Marco's."

Jean's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"The sweater," she looked up and met his shocked gaze. "I think it's Marco's." She held up the scraps of papers—receipts?—and waved them about. "These fell out of the pocket."

Jean was over there in seconds, taking the papers from her hands. One of them was a receipt from that bookstore Marco went to all the time—he had purchased the books with his credit card, so his name was on the paper. The other piece was a torn scrap of printer paper with an address on it. "Is this…is this the zip code for downtown?"

Mikasa nodded. "Yeah…" gently, she tugged the paper with the address from Jean's hands and looked it over once more. Her brows furrowed and she stared at the numbers, wracked her brain for the street name. It looked familiar. "I feel like I've heard of this street before."

"Same," Jean mumbled, looking at the paper from over her shoulder.

_650 Sina Street _

"Sina…" The word fell slowly from his lips. "That…is that..?"

She turned sharply to face him, her hair whipping in her face. Her face creased in uneasiness and he momentarily noted that this was the first time he'd seen her look worried since they were kids. "That's where the gang activity has been going on."

"What?" his mind jumped to the dinners with his mom, the tv on quietly in the background, and he tried to count the number of times the gang wars had been brought up. A shooting there, a stabbing here—and all in or around Sina Street. "Why would Marco be going down there?"

Mikasa shook her head. "I don't know." She stared at the sweater in her arms. "I could be wrong, it might not even be his sweater."

"But it had his receipt in the pocket," Jean whispered. The uneasy glint in Mikasa's eyes didn't give as she neatly folded the sweater and placed it in Jean's arms. "Mikasa…"

"I'll go with you after school." She said suddenly, staring at his chest. She coughed and cleared her throat, one of her hands going up to straighten the jacket he was wearing. "Just," she stopped and sighed, before she lifted her head and met him with a cold glare. "Don't go down there by yourself."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he mumbled. "Only people with death wishes would go down there alone—" he stopped abruptly, face pale, and covered a hand to his mouth. He ran over to the trash can and practically threw his head in there. He was going to be sick.

"Jean, get a grip," Mikasa said firmly, but not unkindly. She went over and rubbed his back a few times in a vague gesture of comfort. "We don't know why that address was in there. We don't even know if that's his _sweater._"

"Why wouldn't it be!" he yelled.

Mikasa took a few steps back and Jean sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. The nausea, quick as it came, was also quick to pass. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"That's okay," she said, lips upturned in a crooked smile as she mimicked his words from earlier. "I meant what I said—I'll go with you after school. We can see what all the fuss is about."

"Don't you have powder puff practice?"

"Shit," she cursed. She paused a moment. "We can go after—"

"It'll be too dark," he reminded her. He unconsciously cradled the sweater closer to him. "Don't worry about it."

"I will worry about it," she said. "Because I know you're going to go check it out, with or without me. And I'd prefer you'd go with me."

"Why?"

"Because that way, I'll know you'll be protected." She smiled smugly. "I am the one with the black belt in Karate."

He rolled his eyes. "I got a belt in Karate too, you know."

"Yeah. A yellow one."

"That's more than a gang member probably has."

_"Jean."_

He relented. "Okay, okay. I won't go without you." he regretted the words as soon as he said them. "Eren's going to kill us. Specifically me."

"He can get over it." Mikasa decided.

"You know," Jean started, quietly, "You don't have to do this." He stared at the paper in his hand, crumpling it as he drew his fingers in and balled his fists.

She tucked her stray strands of her hair behind her ear and mumbled, "I know," before she headed for the door to the art building at the other end of the hall. "Get to class, will you?" she called over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," he called half-heartedly as he waved goodbye.

He didn't go back to class.

~/~

.

_5 unheard voicemails_

_Hey, Marco…where are you?_

.

~/~

* * *

AN: AH HI um this is a high school au. I hope the style and jumpy-cut of it all doesn't throw too many of you off. It'll seem kind of random at first, but it should tie up all nicely at the end. Probably 4 or 5 parts? I don't know when the rest will come out, but there will be more! Mostly told through Jean, it's going to be JeanKasa becAUSE I LIKE AU JEANKASA but it will be slight and mostly a sideplot to the overarching goal, which is figuring out what happens to Marco. I also hope that...this is well written 'cause it's been awhile since I've been turning out stories I think I'm a bit rusty. I hope you enjoyed it please feel free to leave comments or message me with any questions kiss kiss love you!


	2. Chapter 2

Finifugal

.

~/~

_2 unheard voicemails_

_"Yo, we're already at the diner! There's a milkshake with your name on it if you hurry! Pick up the phone, dude!"_

_~/~_

_._

"I'm kind of glad I listened to you about not coming down here alone."

Jean was currently walking right behind Mikasa his hands almost hovering, ready to throw her out of harm's way, if it came to it. They were currently walking down Sina Street, well into a Friday night. There weren't many people on the streets, not that Jean could see. There were barely any streetlights on the road—he saw why it was such a popular spot for gang activity. If he wanted, he could get away with murder. Or worse. Someone else could get away with murdering him.

He tried not to imagine Marco coming down here at night.

Mikasa was leading the way, torch in hand. Another good reason she tagged along was she though ahead and brought a flashlight. She also brought a baseball bat, but Jean thought that was best left in the trunk of his car.

Mikasa hummed in response as she kept shining the light on mailboxes as they walked down the road. Finally, after a good ten minute down the road, they came across an abandoned three story building, the sides littered with graffiti tags and the windows and door boarded off. On the front of the street the numbers "650" were there. She shoved the flashlight in Jean's hand and jogged up the concrete steps towards the bolted door. "Mikasa," Jean hissed in protest.

"You want in, don't you?" she asked before she proceeded to try and kick the door in; the door didn't budge. Her eyes drifted to the windows as she tossed the flashlight behind her. Jean scrambled and managed to catch it before it fell to the ground. "The windows might not be boarded so heavily, bet I could get those." She jogged back down the steps and rounded the corner to the side of the building where there was a fire escape.

Jean shone the flashlight around, looking for a stick or something to tug the ladder down. "It's a pretty high jump," he said before he set the flashlight on its end, the light shining upward into the sky. He crouched down and cupped his hands together. "Here, let me give you boost—"

He was stunned silent as Mikasa had taken a running start and scaled the side of the building before grabbing the ladder and climbing impressively up to the first floor of the fire escape. She poked her head down and motioned for him to toss the flashlight. "Show off," he grumbled, but his snide remark was betrayed when the light caught the smirk on his face. She caught the light easily, twirling it in her hands a few times before the light hit her face, a smile on her mouth.

"Need a lift?" she asked smugly as she kicked the ladder down.

He started climbing. "Alright, but how about you let me try getting the windows before you—" She didn't hear the rest of what he had to say as she kicked the window in, the board much more flimsy than the one used on the front door. "—do that." He sighed.

Mikasa climbed in, using the flashlight to help brush aside the jagged, splintering sides. "I'm here to protect you, remember?" she said, and Jean for the life of him couldn't remember when she got so smug.

The two of them looked around the run down building and came to the conclusion that it was an apartment. But unlike the more swanky apartments of downtown, this one was structured differently; no open floor plan but instead a collection of tiny rooms, the hallways littered with doors. It was almost like apartments within apartments. Tentatively, Jean opened one door to reveal a small room, littered with trash and a bare mattress in the corner of the room. "You don't think someone still lives here, do you?"

Mikasa wandered down the hallway slowly, kicking open doors already ajar and peeking in—it was a similar setting as the first room. Some places were cleaner than others but in general, the building was pretty trashed. There was broken glass from shattered beer and liquor bottles as well as cigarette butts. In one room she found white powder on a coffee table. "Jean," she called, and he came instantly, arms raised in defense. She waved him down and instead gestured to the table. "I think people still live here."

It took a moment, and Mikasa wondered where his slow acceptance came from: ignorance or denial? "This is a crack den?"

"Looks it," Mikasa sighed, waving the flashlight about.

"How did people get in? The windows are boarded up."

Mikasa headed back down the hall, Jean on her heels. "There's probably a board that rests against the window, instead of nailed to it."

"Smart," Jean mumbled. He paused. "Is that how you got in so easily?"

She snorted. "Do you doubt my strength?"

"More like me trying to repair my ego." He smiled. "Throw me a bone, will you?"

"There's no need," she said walking down some stairs and in to the kitchen. It was in complete and utter disarray full of empty wrappers and half open and empty of bottles—none of which were sugar or flour. She scrunched her nose at the smell. "This is a pretty big building," she mumbled.

"You're right," he said. "I'm surprised no one is here."

"They might be," Mikasa told him, her voice dropping to a light whisper. "We didn't open all the doors."

"Maybe we should—"

_"Just don't bring her 'round again, got it?"_

_"Don't have to tell me twice."_

The two heard rustling around the corner of the room, and Jean could tell that Mikasa's theory about the board being movable was probably true, judging by the sound. Jean reached forward, wrapped his arms around Mikasa's waist, and gave her a good tug before guiding her back towards the stairwell. The two of them darted up the stairs and headed toward the window Mikasa had shattered.

_"Did you hear that?"_

_"Someone's here!"_

Jean hastily climbed down the ladder on the fire escape, the flashlight long gone. He forewent the last few steps and hopped off, looking up for Mikasa. "Mikasa? Mikasa!"

There was shouting from indoors before she jumped out the window and shouted, "Catch!"

"Wha-_shit!_" Unprepared, but determined, Jean stood his ground and opened his arm as Mikasa jumped off the fire escape, foregoing the ladder entirely. She fell into him and he bit back a grunt as he wrapped his arms awkwardly around her. He stumbled several steps back but he prided himself for not falling over. "Jesus," he mumbled into her hair and his face bloomed bright red when he realized his hand lifted her shirt all the way to the edge of her bra in his efforts to catch her. He set her down, yanked her wrist, and the two started running down the street just as the two others in the building poked their head out of the window, demanding they come back.

"Why'd you jump!" he squawked, panting and out of breath.

"You wanted me to throw you a bone, did you not?" She turned a sharp corner and headed to the car. "Nice catch, by the way."

The two made it to the car safely and Jean broke several speeding laws trying to get out of the inner city as fast as he could. He looked at the clock on the dashboard and noticed it was only 10:30. Turning the radio off, he glanced over into the passengers' side where he saw Mikasa slumped in her seat, leaning against the car window. "You okay?"

A faint sigh escaped her lips. "Yeah." She looked his way. "How about you?"

The adrenaline of escape was starting to fade away and the realization of what they found down there was starting to sink in. If that was a drug den, then what was Marco doing down there? Marco didn't do drugs! He would never get himself in that kind of trouble. Jean was Marco's best friend. There was no chance he'd get into any of that stuff—Jean would know about it. And he would stop it. There was just no chance—

"You're crying."

He peeled his eyes away from the road and saw Mikasa's face blurred by his own tears. "Come on," she said, her voice quiet and calm. "Why don't you pull over, let me drive."

"I'm _fine," _he bit out, angry. He was too upset to think about his tone.

"You're crying," she repeated, and he heard the sympathy in her voice, which only made him angrier. Sympathy from her only meant she believed Marco was a part of that…that crack den.

"I said I'm fine!" he barked. The car jerked suddenly when he yanked the wheel sharply to the right and into the shoulder of the highway, narrowly missing a guide rail.

The radio hissed softly with the sounds of some current pop song before Jean snagged the keys out of the ignition. He buried his hands in his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't worry about it," she said before she unbuckled her seat and got out of the car, circling around and opening the driver's door. Another car whirled past them in traffic. "It's still another half hour to our houses. I'll drive."

Jean didn't argue this time around and the two went to switching seats. Mikasa adjusted her seat and mirrors and started the car, while Jean snuggled in the passenger seat and switched the radio to some alternative station. He recognized the first song and it didn't take long before it put him to sleep.

.

~/~

_13 unheard voicemails_

_"Please, if you're in trouble you can tell me. I'll help you. Just…call me, Marco."_

~/~

.

"Jean? Jean, wake up."

Jean was never one to wake up calmly. Every morning he woke with a start, like he had just had a terrifying nightmare, even if he couldn't remember dreaming. Falling asleep in his car was no exception. His eyes shot open, his breath ragged, when Mikasa poked him awake.

"Sorry," she furrowed her brow, confused at his startled awakening. "We're at my house."

Jean rubbed his hands over his face vigorously. "Oh," he mumbled, leaning up. "Thanks, Mikasa."

She hummed in response. "No problem. Drive home safe, okay?" he nodded before she collected her things and walked up the front steps of her house. Before she opened the door to her house, she gestured for Jean to roll down his window, as he had already moved back to the driver's side. "Want to have lunch tomorrow?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Sounds good. Good night, Mikasa."

Mikasa waited until he backed out of the drive before she walked into her house quietly; she saw Grisha and Carla still up and watching TV. "Where you been, sweetie?" Carla asked casually.

"Out," she said, kicking her shoes off. "I was hanging out with a boy from school."

From upstairs, Eren shouted, "Jean!?"

Mikasa rolled her eyes. "Yes!" she shouted back. Not wanting to hear Carla's 20 questions on the matter, Mikasa jogged up the stairs. "I'm pretty tired, I'm going to bed. Night."

Grisha nodded, not looking up from the TV. "Night, pumpkin."

The floorboards creaked with her weight despite her best efforts as she tried to tiptoe past Eren's bedroom. "Not so fast, Mika." She leaned in the doorway and saw Eren sitting on his bed, a headset on his ears as he played a video game she didn't recognize. "How was the date?" he grinned.

"I wouldn't call it a date," she admitted as she resigned and walked in his room. Grabbing his strewn comforter on his bed, she climbed up beside him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"No? Why-aw _fuck_!" he hissed when his character suddenly got shot. "Was he nice to you? If he wasn't you can tell me, I'll fuck him up, I'll—"

"No, he was nice to me. We just…didn't go on a date," she paused. "It wasn't supposed to be one."

Interest piqued, Eren paused the game. "Where did you two go?"

Mikasa eyed him tentatively, obviously conflicted on whether she should tell him or not. "Sina Street."

"Mika!" he shouted, but Mikasa quickly covered Eren's mouth with her hand before he could shout any further. The two waited to see if their parents were startled, but as usual, they brushed off Eren's shouting. "What in hell's name were you doing down there? That place is no good, you know better."

She stared at him, bewildered and angry. "Of course I know that but," she chewed on her bottom lip. "Jean found an address down there in one of Marco's things."

"This is about Marco," Eren groaned and he un-paused his game and went back to stealing cars. "I wish you wouldn't encourage him. Jean, I mean." Eren told her, eyes on the television.

Reaching up, she pulled one of his headphones from over his ear and let it smack back down, causing him to wince. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He was quiet for a few moments, the only sounds coming from the pedestrians getting their car stolen on the TV. Finally, he paused the game and removed his headphones before he lay back down on his bed, tugging Mikasa along with him. "It's been weeks, Mikasa," he reminded her, hoping and praying she wouldn't make him say it aloud. But at her incessant silence, he relented. "Marco, he's…probably not alive."

"Don't say that." Mikasa ground out, and Eren felt frustrated tears seep into his shirt.

"Mikasa," he whispered, his fingers coming up to thread through her hair. "I know it's sad, but the odds don't look good. A good looking, happy guy disappears out of the blue? Something went wrong. If he was okay, he…" he hesitated to finish. "…would have shown up by now."

"Maybe he wasn't so happy after all." She whispered. "The address we found was some kind of drug den."

"And you went around in there!?" Eren squawked. She nodded. "Jesus, I know you can take care of yourself but those people are crazy! They've got guns and shit! For all we know, Marco went down there and got himself shot—"

"I know!" she hissed, her voice muffled by the comforter. "But there's no real proof that he's dead. At first I thought it was kinder to get him to accept it but now…I'm not so sure. Of all people, I'm in no position to kill that kind of hope."

"Mikasa…"

She took a few calming breaths before she tucked her head in the crook of Eren's breath. "That kind of optimism would have done me good back when my parents we killed, right?"

He held her tight, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. "It was tough, but look how far you've come. You're alright. You got my mom and dad, all your friends, the best brother in the world." Eren paused. "It's tough for Jean right now, sure. But he'll get better in time, just like you did."

She rolled her eyes but sighed contentedly before she wiggled free from his hold and sat up so she could look Eren in the eye. "But I guess…I want to be there for Jean," she poked his chest. "Like you were there for me."

"You're a really good person, you know that?" Shaking his head, Eren laughed. "But this is different from you and me. You want to bang him."

Getting Mikasa to blush was a rare occurrence but Eren certainly enjoyed it when it came along. Actions speak louder than words, so in one swift motion she kicked him square off his bed. He laughed as he hit the floor, clutching his controller and headset to his chest. Hearing the commotion, Carla walked by and poked her head in the doorway to find her son sprawled on the floor, her adopted daughter pinned on top of him.

"Mikasa get off him, you know it's not a fair fight," was all she said before she retired to her own room. Still laughing, Eren stuck one of his fingers in his mouth before he quickly stuck it in Mikasa's ear, causing her to yelp.

"God, a wet willy? Are you five?" She grumbled, getting up and kicking him one last time for good measure.

"Heh," he finished laughing as he sat up. Watching Mikasa adjust her blouse gave him an idea. He reached forward and grabbed her red bra strap and gave it a good tug, letting it snap back in place on her shoulder. Snarling, she didn't hesitate to smack him in the chest—hard. "Hey," he said, voice wheezy from her attack. "Do you think I can borrow one of your girly bras?"

The look she gave him was priceless. "Why."

"Powder puff."

Mikasa grimaced. "You borrowed a sundress last year, and that was bad enough."

"Well, we're stepping our game up this year. If I'm gonna keep dressing in drag, I better win."

"Fine." Instantly, she regretted her agreement. "I'd like it back in one piece, if you don't mind."

"No worries." He said, getting off the floor and resetting his game and headphones. "Do you think Armin could borrow one too?"

"I guess," she groaned, heading for the door.

"Jean needs one too, but I'm sure he'll get one off you in no time—OW!" he yelped when Mikasa suddenly ran back over, grabbed one of his pillows and smothered his face with it in impressive time. After a few good whacks she tossed the pillow across the room so he'd have to walk and get it. "I guess now would be a bad time to ask if you had any booty shorts as well."

She left his room with a slam of the door.

.

~/~

_._

As soon as Jean got home he made a bee line for his room, ignoring his mother's inquiry of where he had been. He dug through his closet, tossing aside old shoe boxes and old sports equipment until he found his keepsake box in the back.

Settling on his bed, he opened the box and dumped the contents on his comforter. It was mostly just photos, with the occasional item or two. A lot of photos were of him, Connie, and Sasha, who were friends since they were quite young. Considerably less in number had photos of him, Eren and Armin at various parties and whatnot since the start of high school. He only had two photos with Mikasa, but right now he was looking for pictures of Marco.

He and Marco had known each other since they were twelve—they played on the same kiddie soccer team. After that, they went to school together and became the best of friends, all the way up to the day he vanished. All the photos of them together had Marco looking happy enough. But then again, he was posing for the camera.

Curious, Jean sifted through the picture of first semester senior year, which he had just put in the box last winter break. He found one picture of him and Eren drunk at a Christmas party, mooning the camera, and another one of Jean photo bombing Eren kissing Armin's cheek under mistletoe at the same drunken party. He laughed at how flustered Armin had been at Eren's teasing. There was one of him and Sasha arm wrestling, one of him shoving eggnog down Connie's shirt, and the last one from that party was of him and Mikasa, sitting on the couch—her smile was faint but genuine, and Jean couldn't help but smile himself looking at it.

But as he looked around, he realized he didn't have a photo of him and Marco at that party.

"Surely, I have one…" he mumbled to himself, looking at the pile of pictures. He triple checked the pile before realizing that he didn't have a photo of him and Marco. "Huh. Was he not at the party?"

Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he recognized a sweater, the same sweater in his locker. In the corner of the photo with Mikasa, he saw Marco in that sweater, a beer in his hand, looking off into space.

Jean never saw him look so sad.

.

~/~

_6 unheard voicemails_

_"Hey man, are you ok?"_

_~/~_

_._

notes: sorry this isn't very long! I've been very busy! But I'm glad so many people were interested! I'll try to get as many updates as I can over winter break, and my schedule is a lot lighter next semester, so I should have some time then as well! Thanks guys, be sure to leave a comment if you'd like!


	3. Chapter 3

_Finifugal_

_._

_~/~_

_3 unheard voicemails_

_"Dude, what is taking you so long?"_

_~/~_

_._

"How was that?" Jean yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth to make sure the girls could hear him up in the bleachers.

Sasha took a sip from her overpriced, vending-machine purchased diet soda, before smacking her lips in a loud pop. The boys had used the lunch period to practice their powder puff routine on the football field, dragging along her and Christa to judge their performance. Quite honestly, Sasha found it rather impressive. With Reiner's provocative choreography combined with the boys dressed in the girls' bras, the whole routine came out in sync, and it was pretty hilarious.

Not that she'd ever give the boys the satisfaction. Sasha shrugged, taking another sip of her soda. She cocked her head to Christa, who was biting her lip in suppressed laughter. "I don't know—what'd you think, Christa?"

Christa pulled a face, but her personal amusement betrayed the stern look she was trying to give them. "Let's just say I'm really glad I'm gay!" Christa shouted back, and Sasha, mid-sip, spewed soda before erupting into her ugly laughter.

All the boys on the field moaned save Reiner, who stepped forward, posing ridiculously and flexing his pectorals that fit surprisingly snug in Sasha's bra. "Aw, don't want a piece of this?" he asked, licking his finger and pressing it to his backside, mimicking a sizzling sound.

Christa wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "No way. I'll leave the boys to you, Reiner."

Sasha wiped her chin with her sleeve as she watched the boys shoving Reiner's ridiculous and playful advances on the field, smiles betraying any insults they were throwing at each other. She was pretty sure Reiner was trying to kiss Armin before she put her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly, catching all their attention.

"One more time, y'all get back to it!"

After the boys ran through the routine once more, Jean decided he had worn a bra long enough for the day. "Alright guys, good work," he said, collecting his things on the side of the field. "We'll run it through tomorrow at lunch, and we should be good for the game on Friday."

Eren nodded vigorously as he tried to undo the clasps on his bra—it wasn't going too well. Armin watched with a chuckle at his frustration. "Need help?"

Connie walked by the two, a playful smirk on his face. "I spy with my little eye, two nerds who have never taken a girl's bra off."

"Shut up!" The two shouted at the same time, laughing as they tossed the bra onto Connie's face. Running over to grab his discarded t-shirt, Eren shouted at Jean, "Hey, do you need help with the banner?"

"Uhh," Jean thought it over. "Actually, yeah. That wouldn't hurt."

"Cool. I'll swipe some of Mikasa's art supplies."

Against his better judgment, Jean hoped Eren wasn't stupid enough to steal her expensive paints. He'd find out later.

He took a lazy stroll to the north wing of the campus, where all the literature and foreign language classrooms were. There were still classes going on, as his lunch period hadn't quite ended, so he took a small detour to intentionally pass Mr. Bozado's Spanish class where he spotted Ymir in the front seat by the open door. He waved to her to get her attention.

Mr. Bozado saw the exchange and offered a warning, "No Inglés, Ymir," but other than that, didn't really seem to care what his students did or said. Ymir rolled her eyes and opened her mouth when he intervened again, "And if you so much as swear in my class again, I'm kicking you out." He warned.

She shrugged, bored. "This guy thinks he's so fucking cool," she said, speaking Arabic. "But have you seen that stupid… cravat he wears? He does know we've entered a new century, right?"

Ymir's parents traveled the world, and as a result, she grew up in a lot of different countries and learned a lot of different languages, if only bits and pieces. Jean was confident that she had made fun of him in more languages than he could count.

So naturally, Jean had no idea what she said, but he heard the word "cravat" because she didn't know the word for it in Arabic. Mr. Bozado must have heard it to, judging by his red face and incessant tugging on said neck wear. In clipped Spanish he demanded she leave the classroom.

"You're making assumptions." She accused him. "I've not said a bad thing."

"I know you well enough to know you did. Leave."

With an exaggerated bow, she said her thanks in Spanish and left the room, leaving her classmates in giggles.

"Hey where you headed to?" she asked, closing the door behind her. She glanced at the clock in the hallway. There was only 15 minutes left in the period.

"I'm going to see Miss Ral," he said.

Ymir grinned. "Ahhh, Petra. She was awesome. First "A" I ever got here was from her." She paused, thinking. "Probably the only one I'll ever get too." She didn't sound disappointed, only fascinated. "What are you going there for?"

He hesitated. "I want her opinion on a few…papers."

Ymir bought it, or at least, she decided to go along with it. "College admissions or something?"

"No, that was awhile go," he told her. It was April, who was still applying to colleges? But then again, there were still a few letters of appeal going out for those who were wait-listed, him included. Damn Columbia. "Hey, did you ever apply to somewhere?"

"Nah," Ymir shook her head. "College isn't really my thing, at least not right now. I've got a job, so I think I'll just work, save my money. We'll see." She swung her backpack to the other shoulder. "Please tell me these papers aren't "prom asking" papers, then."

Jean grinned. "Nah, I've got that already taken care of."

"Good. Mikasa does not need your pitiful take on poetry."

"Hey!" he cried, shoving her lightly into the wall. "I bet any poetry of mine would still be a better way to ask someone to prom than whatever you come up with."

She reached over and pinched his ear, making him wince. "Wrong, lover-boy. I have prom-date proof that my poetry is hella, stella, and out of this world."

Her interesting choice of words aside, Jean was not very convinced. "Then tell me, Shakespeare, what it is you wrote."

"Oh, nothing real original, I'll admit." She tapped her head. "I recited Christa's favorite poem by memory."

He shoved her again. "You didn't even write anything!?" he screeched, making her laugh as she shook her head. "Then what made it so special?"

"I recited it in 10 different languages."

"_Jesus."_

Ymir threw him a wink. "Told ya I was good." As they came to the end of the foreign language hall and into the literature hall, Ymir circled behind him , and reaching into front pocket of his back pack, where just her luck, she found his pack of cigarettes. Taking one out, she slid it behind her ear, ignoring his whiny protests about mooching, before she stuffed the pack in the side pocket of his book bag. "I'll catch you later, nerd."

It was only a few steps to Petra's open door, where he found it to be unusually empty. Her room was a popular spot to do homework, as she had more computers in her room than most teachers, since her room was used as the creative writing room as well as yearbook club after school. He knocked on the door to get her attention and she looked up from grading research papers to offer him a bright smile. "Jean!" she chirped, setting her pen down. "It's been awhile since you paid me a visit."

As he walked in, he noticed that there was one person in the room—Annie was in the far corner with headphones in her ear, typing away. He grabbed a chair from a desk and set it across from her desk. "Yeah, well, things have been pretty hectic lately."

"Hear back from Columbia yet?"

"Not yet."

Petra waved off his answer. "Ah, I have faith! Chin up, you'll get that letter in no time."

He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a sandwich—he had 10 minutes to eat lunch. He waved one of the halves covered in plastic wrap her way. "Want half?"

"Depends…what kind?"

"Turkey club."

"Ah, a bribery, perhaps?" she declared, taking the sandwich. Jean knew it was her favorite—he , Marco, Sasha and Connie had spent enough times eating lunch her room Sophomore year to know that. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much," he said with a mouthful of food. "I just wanted to talk to you about the literary magazine."

Petra looked generally surprised. "We're finalizing it right now. Why, do you have a submission? I was always saying you'd make a good writer if you applied yourself, did I not?"

"No, I'm not much of a writer," Jean admitted, wiping his mouth of excess mayo. "That's Marco."

Petra's peppy and cheerful face fell in an instant at the mention of Marco's name. Marco was a regular favorite among teachers, much like Armin was, but Marco was Petra's prized student, everyone knew that. He had been in Petra's creative writing class as an elective since first semester freshman year, and when Marco didn't each lunch with Jean, he was working on homework or eating lunch with Petra while he nerded out over ancient Hindu texts or Norse mythology or whatever world literature topic Petra was teaching at the time. Jean wasn't entirely sure, but he was fairly certain "World Lit Teacher" was on Marco's list of possible future careers.

"Marco was a phenomenal writer," she said, looking down at her papers. "It was never a pain to grade his works."

"He's still a good writer," Jean corrected, and he realized his tone might have been a little harsh.

A delicate brow rose to her hairline. "Has he been found?" she asked, voice carefully controlled. Jean could tell she was trying not to get her hopes up.

"No," and with that her shoulders sunk a bit. "But he's somewhere. I'm sure he's okay."

Petra pursed her lips, a worrisome look directed towards him. "Yes," she said slowly. "He's somewhere," she agreed quietly.

In a nervous gesture, Jean scratched the back of his head. His sandwich was long forgotten. "Marco's the reason I came down here, actually," he admitted. "I was wondering if….does he have anything set for the literary magazine?"

"One of his works will be included, yes."

"…Would you be willing to show me?"

Petra blinked. "It'll be published in a few weeks."

Jean closed his eyes with a sigh. "I know that but," he paused, suppressing a groan. "Is there any possible way I could have a copy of it like…now?"

Petra's brow furrowed and she looked down to her half of a turkey club. "I don't know Jean, he specifically wanted to wait until the magazine was published before he shared it. We didn't even workshop it in class, I edited it. What's this about?"

"Well, I just…I just," He trailed off. "I wanted to know if, uh, he had been writing anything that was…." He looked behind him and saw that Annie was still typing away, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.

"That was what?"

"…Depressing?"

"Depressing?" the word fell of her tongue slowly. "Marco?" she breathed loudly out of her mouth, air coming to tickle her bangs. "Oh, that boy was a ray of sunshine, you know that! He never wrote anything like that, he—" she stopped abruptly, her entire demeanor changed. "Well, actually…"

Jean was practically on the edge of his seat. "What? What!?"

Petra rolled back in her rolling office chair, swinging side to side. Her fingers were brought together in thought over her mouth, almost like in prayer. "I—" she started and stopped several times over before she got up from her chair and headed to the filing cabinet next to the door. Jean followed her and watched as she pulled out the second drawer and started sifting through manila folders before she pulled out one of the fattest files that said "Bodt, Marco" written in red sharpie across the front. "These are all his works from freshman year, or at least the ones he shared with us," she explained holding the file up in front of her mouth. Jean held out his hand greedily, but she pulled it away sharply, hesitant. "I'm not under obligation to give these to you. In fact, it's against school policy."

Jean frowned. "Then why show me—"

"But, I tend to spend a lot of time in the break room, usually with my room unlocked," her voice was quiet, "And you came in here and pulled this file which is kept in the second drawer, took it home and made copies, and then returned it before I noticed, then there wouldn't be much of a problem, right?"

Jean smiled. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Hmm," she hummed, putting the file back. She glanced at Annie in the corner of the room, who started to pull her headphones out and pack up. "I don't know what you think these might tell you, but….you did know him best. If you think you can find something, I'll give you a chance." His smile widened, slightly crooked teeth gleaming. "But, please don't get your hopes up. There might not be anything there."

He nodded before he headed back to the desk to grab his half-eaten sandwich and book bag. The bell for next period rang. "Thanks again, Miss Ral."

Annie squeezed past them and out the door, saying her thanks to Petra for letting her use the computers. "Next time you see me, it better be to tell me you got into Columbia!" Petra chirped.

"We'll see," he laughed lightly, waving goodbye and heading down back the hall. "Yo, Annie!" he called, and she stopped, despite the mess of students filing into the hall for class change. He jogged to catch up to her. "Yeah, what's up?" Her voice monotone as ever.

He tugged at her small twist of a ponytail on the back of her head. "You got a tennis match coming up?" She grunted in affirmation, swatting his hand away. "Sweet! I'll be there."

She didn't look very convinced. "They aren't exactly basketball or football games," she explained. "You'll probably be bored."

Jean grinned. "That's why I'm gonna make them fuuuuun!" he sung. "So, it's cool if I go?"

"I don't care what you do," she sighed. "I gotta get to class. See you around."

"Alright, later!" he started down the hall in the opposite direction with his usual quick pace when Annie did something she didn't normally do. "Jean!" she called.

He stopped and looked back. The hall was already starting to taper down as students got to their classes. "Yeah?"

He saw a flash of uneasiness in her expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Never mind." She said, just loud enough for him to hear before she stuck one of her hands in the pockets of her long skirt and headed to class.

.

~/~

_4 unheard voicemails_

_"Marco. This is Annie. Call me back as soon as you can."_

_~/~_

_._

"I'm home!" Mikasa announced as she took of her shoes and put them neatly by the door. She spotted Eren's shoes strewn sloppily across the doorway, as well as Armin's, who had neatly put them under the coat hanger. Slinging her bag over one shoulder she ran up the stairs quietly and walked into Eren's open door, where she found him and Armin sitting on the floor playing a video game. "Who's winning?"

Eren grinned, while Armin frowned. "Armin sucks at anything that isn't scrabble."

"Hey!" he groaned when his character was dealt a severe blow that lowered his health bar. "That's not true."

"You're right," Eren sighed, but Mikasa knew he wasn't done. "You're good at trivia too."

Armin successfully got a hit on Eren. "Funny, I don't recall you complaining when we win Trivia Thursdays down at that sports bar."

"Fair enough-I yield."

Mikasa crawled up on Eren's bed and buried herself in Eren's comforter and sheets. His sheets didn't always smell the best, but his bed was by far comfier than hers, reasons unknown to her. "Don't you go napping in my bed," Eren warned before he let out a victory cry at yet another round won.

"I'll do as I like." She mumbled into his pillow. Seconds later, the TV was muted and she felt two lumps crash into her with wild laughter. "Go awaaaaaaay," she moaned.

"This is my bed!" Eren laughed. He and Armin pulled the comforter from off her face.

"Right now it's mine, and I want to take a nap." She tugged it back over her head.

Eren gave an exaggerated yawn, winking at Armin, who caught on. "Man, a nap does sound good."

"Same!" Armin stretched. "I think I'll lie down right here, on the comfortable looking lump."

"Me too."

She felt their weight press into her, making it hard to breathe. "Eren! Armin! Get off!"

Thankfully, Armin's phone started ringing and the two boys got off as Armin darted across the room to get his phone. "Hello?" he answered. "Ah, yes, speaking." Pause. "That much? Umm…." He trailed off looking to Eren, who gave him a puzzling look. "No, I don't think we'll be needing it after all. Yes. Mmhm. No, thank you. Bye."

"Who was that?" Eren asked, grabbing some of Mikasa's hair and attempting to braid it.

"Limo company. He said it would cost 100 dollars."

"Aw, dude, that's not so bad." Eren decided, still concentrated on Mikasa's hair.

"Per _person_."

She winced when Eren accidentally knotted her hair. "_Fuck that."_

Mikasa swatted Eren's hand away. "We don't need a limo, we can just take our car."

"We won't fit," Armin said with a sigh, picking up a strand of his blonde hair. It just hit his shoulders and he momentarily wondered what it would look like if he braided it.

"The three of us? We'll fit."

Eren and Armin shared looks while Mikasa started playing with her own hair, not paying attention. The two of them went back in forth in a silent battle, mouthing "No, you tell her," before Armin finally elbowed Eren in the ribs, making him grunt. "Ah, Mika?" Eren squeaked out.

"Hmmm."

"We're not going to prom together."

She dropped her hair and stared at them. "What? Why not?"

"Because," Eren elongated, throwing an arm around her in a comforting gesture. "I'm your brother. And Armin is your best friend. And we're not going to be your cop outs anymore. You need to go on a real date for once in your life."

Mikasa rolled her eyes, shrugging his arm off her. "We're in high school. What does dating matter?"

"It's fuuuuuun!" Eren whined before pointing to Armin. "The arrangement helps Armin out as well. The two of you are going to get dates, and you are going to _like it."_

Mikasa wrapped herself in Eren's comforter, scowling. "I don't like _you_." she said childishly.

"Oh, you will. Especially if this helps you get your first kiss—OW!" he stopped abruptly as Mikasa smacked his pillow into his face. She opened her mouth to protest but Eren quickly covered her mouth with his hand. "That time I dared you and Armin to kiss in eighth grade does not count." He said, voice muffled. She bit his hand.

She was quiet for a moment. "Well, who have you two asked?"

"I asked Annie, actually." Armin admitted, a little bashful. That came as a surprise to the both of them. Neither knew that Armin knew Annie very well.

"Aaaaaand, you'll find out who I ask tomorrow." Eren said, pinching Mikasa's nose. "But chances are, if you hear something about a four-man mariachi band asking Mina Carolina to prom during her 2nd period history class, it's probably me."

Mikasa stared at him. "Where did you get a mariachi costume?"

"I found them in the band uniform room, if you believe it."

"I don't."

Eren shrugged and hopped off his bed to return to his video games, chucking a controller Armin's way. He dug through a box under his TV and grabbed a third controller. "Want to play, Mika?"

Although still annoyed with the whole prom situation, Mikasa sighed and motioned for him to toss it her way. Kicking both their virtual butts was bound to make her feel a little more at ease.

~/~

.

_8 unheard voicemails_

_"Marco? This is your mother. Jean's been calling the house pretty worried. Are you okay?"_

_~/~_

_._

Jean rolled on to his side, reaching for the stack of photocopies at the foot of his bed. He went the extra mile and stretched out to ruffle Mikasa's hair as she was currently sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed. She didn't react to his touch, too captivated by one of Marco's short stories he wrote last year. "I haven't read that one yet, is it any good?"

Mikasa hummed in response. "Yes, very." She tilted her head back and saw Jean looking down at her grinning. "Although, I wish it was copied a little cleaner," she held it up for him to see, and the words on the edges of the pages were faint and falling off the page, making it difficult to read. "Learn to use a copy machine."

"Have you seen that monster of a machine in the library? It ate a good chunk of my dimes," he pouted. "Besides, I specifically brought you along on this covert mission to make sure I didn't mess up."

She breathed heavily out her nose, looking back to the short story. "So this is my fault?"

"Completely." He rolled back around on his bed. "What's that one about?"

She smirked. "I think it's about you."

Jean, in his surprise, rolled over and fell off the bed. She laughed a bit as he snatched the papers out of her hands. "What? Why do you say that?" he scanned the paper, but he didn't see his name, nor any name he knew.

"Well, you're in it. I recognize the story, from the pieces I got out of Eren. I think it's about the time all of you boys tried to play that prank on Sina High, with their mascot."

For a moment, Jean smiled at the memory. He, Marco and all the other boys decided it would be funny if the rival Sina High Stallions became the Sina High Unicorns and they went to vandalizing all of their stupid horses by putting fake horns on all their statues and murals before the big rival game—nothing permanent, just enough to be a pain in the ass for whoever had detention that day and was forced to clean it up. But of course while they were there, Connie and Eren's imaginations got out of hand and while he hated to admit it, Jean, along with Reiner, didn't do much to stop the spontaneous plans. He thought about how loudly Marco protested, how dangerous he believed the stunt to be. They had tried to get on the football field to see if the mascot costume was stored in a shed so they could glue a unicorn horn and put glitter on it, but the fields were locked and it was a dangerous jump to get over the fence. Long story short, when a security guard caught sight of them and they tried to escape, Marco ended up falling and getting hurt.

His smiled had long turned into a frown, which Mikasa noticed. "It wasn't a very funny story after all." Jean whispered. Jean remembered pressing a towel to Marco's head as Bert drove them to the ER. Marco, being Marco, was quick to forgive them, smile and all, but Jean always felt pretty bad about it. He did cost Marco half a dozen stitches when he split his head open. He probably ended up buying him 20 dollars-worth of McDoubles to try and make up for it.

Mikasa watched him and shrugged. She waved the story around. "Marco obviously thought it was." She smiled gently. "Don't beat yourself up for it."

"Easy for you to say." Jean sighed, plucking the story from her hands and leafing through the papers. Marco was always the type who forgave easily, no matter how bad Jean fucked up—which in retrospect, was probably a lot. Friendship wasn't about keeping score, but sometimes it was hard not to notice how uneven the scale tipped, especially when Jean thought he could have done a better job looking out for Marco.

With a glance at his phone and a twinge in his heart, he realized it had been a few days since he left him a voicemail.

"Well, I don't see anything in here that would cause suspicion," Mikasa said, trying to change the subject. Getting up, she crawled back on his bed to join the mess of poems and stories scattered in the sheets. "Most of its humor or adventure, at least most of the short stories. "

"Yeah, I'm almost finished with my half." They had split the two stacks of stories in half, which was probably at least a dozen a piece. "I haven't even touched the poetry stack."

She sighed. "Neither have I." She pulled out her phone and checked the time—it was getting pretty late. "Maybe we should finish this up another night."

He jumped back on the bed to join her with an exaggerated plop. "You're probably right," he mumbled into his pillow. "Do you need a ride home?" he asked, remembering that he had drove her straight from school to his house.

"I can walk—"

"A ride it is."

The two of them started packing up and putting their things away, but Mikasa noticed how Jean kept staring at his phone he'd left on the dresser, obviously anxious. "Go ahead and make a call first," Mikasa said gently, cocking her head towards the phone he was staring at. Her voice was gentle, understanding. "I'll just be in here, reading about how Eren's plan failed."

He grinned, and in an act of bravery, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "Thanks." He got up and grabbed his phone, heading for the door to take the call outside. "Oh, and wait until you get to the end. A certain _brother _and his crew-cut pal managed to get back in there and glue that unicorn horn on after all."

She rolled her eyes, but he swore she was trying to hide the blush in her face with the papers. "What a bunch of morons."

"I hope you're not including me in that hurtful statement, Mikasa." He teased.

"You're absolutely included." And he saw her lips twitch up in a half-curled smile as he left the room.

Alone in his room, she eyed the poetry stack curiously. Setting down the short story, she glanced at the top of the stack, a poem Marco had written the second month of the school year entitled:

_Empty_

She frowned.

~/~

.

_38 unheard voicemails_

_"Hey, Marco, Jean again. I miss you."_

~/~

.

* * *

AN: Ahh, hello! I know, it's Christmas and I'm a fucking nerd for posting on Christmas, but I was really excited to have had this finished and ready to share with you guys! I wish you all happy holidays and a happy, brand-spankin'-new year! As always, please feel free to leave a comment and thanks for the follows and favorites! Leave any questions if you have any as well. Best wishes!


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